Undeleted Files
by Vampiric-Conure
Summary: A One shot about Barricade from an OC's POV. Bayverse Live action TF movie , 2007


Notes:

Nothing much to this one. It started off with this Facebook posting of mine some months back:

'That's all she wanted. To feel the surge of his spark against her own, to dive into the back of his mind and feel the pulse of his processor against the tides of her own thoughts. The difference was that they were separated by a veil too thick to comprehend and most mech here were dumber than door knobs.'

I just added a little more angst and a bummer of a plot twist :D

Edit to add:

Fixed some spelling errors and minor screw ups.

They wouldn't believe me. Even if I tried.

It's so cliché saying that but.. Hell. I love the way he feels. Skin on metal. The smooth way he looks at me with those eyes. The way their red glow pierces my very soul. The faint, plotting grin on that alien face. The sharp angles of his head and the purr of power that flows through his frame. Raw power. He's stunning. Immaculate. He's handsome. More handsome that anyone can imagine.

But no one would believe me if I told them he existed.

I enjoy the sensation of his rumbling laughter. That's all it takes to make me happy. It starts as a trembling sensation in his seats as I mimic the motions of driving, then it bursts forth as a raucous bellowing that shakes his entire frame. It's a bizarre sound deafening to myself and other drivers. What a sight we must be, a civilian and an alien so sophisticated that he can pass as a dark cop car screaming by with lights flashing and alarms wailing. This all in hopes of covering the noise of his joyous ruckus.

Normally afterwords we would find a secluded spot to talk. I'm... intimately connected to him. He has spoken quietly about his home and his ... not quite dreams but beliefs. His cause. I don't believe the rumours that he's cold and brutish. He can't be. He's got rough charm he's forced to hide. Bold, brash, like a large untamed animal. Perhaps it's a result of all the years he's worked alone, forced to hide among creatures so unlike himself. Made to question everything he understood as reality.

He found me in the rain, by one of the destroyed building after Mission City. He, invisible to humanity and I invisible to everything but him. I still don't understand why he noticed me when I have gone years with not even my own parents acknowledging me. Years where I was invisible because my grades were never good enough, my sports skills non existent and my art good but not perfect. Then, in the rain, I saw how the sky made his form darker than the brilliant maw of space and the driver he called his own stare at me with a stark expression that would have sent chills down my spine before that first big battle. He kept staring. Staring as if he needed to understand. He mimicked humanity so well. Perhaps he needed a change of perception. Perhaps he needed to know if I would bend under his will. His programming. His reality.

I am part of his reality now.

I wouldn't call it love making. There really isn't an equivalent for it in human languages and for once I wish I could feel what he feels without forcing my will into him. Seriously feel what he feels. To know how and why he does the things he does, why he presses on in this long tedious chase of mouse and hunter. He simply holds me while he shudders. We flirt. He feigning hurt and jealousy and I explaining why humans are so... What does he call it? Absurd. It's a mutual attraction. Mutual trust. I'm the only one I've ever seen him lower his guard around.

He's known for feigning friendships just to watch the trust evaporate in an explosion of horror and fury. He laughs heatedly at feeble human constructions. I study his holograms when he rests. Compared to those of his home world our gifts are minuscule and feeble. Not like the constructions of ants and termites. So why me? Why do I stay if I'm to bear his less than flavourful faults? I know what he really thinks. Just by being what I am by practice makes me a master at reading his moods, his needs, his urges. I know when to avoid him. I know when he needs companionship. I know when he needs to scream and burn farmers' fields, venting frustrations seeded by an incompetent leader. He would never admit his defeats to outsiders.

The intimacy we share is that intense. He knows none will hear of his exploits or his cunning beyond what he wishes them to believe. He knows and feels he can do so without demanding.

He calls it bonding. Letting our energies mingle, me imprinting upon his life force. It requires me pressing myself into his frame, feeling the pulse of his force flow over his metallic skin, gently stroking his face while my simple - perhaps superficial - existence drives him over the edge simply by lying next to his spark's housing. A trace of my finger over his bumper will make him shiver with hunger, those red eyes heated. They lose their hatred, their blinding fury for the briefest of moments before he lunges at me, desperation driving him mad. Often we just lay, close friends away from the confines of war. He wishes he could touch me but he's built as a hunter. He would touch me. He can but... He says it's not the same. He swears often, knowing there's nothing for his spark to grip and he finds it maddening. He swears to his God, to the oaths he's been forced to swallow. He swears in what languages he knows - his own world's clicking tongue, the rough sandpapered lyrics of English and the warbling of Japanese. He's loyal to his leaders. Or so he firmly claims. He's a firm believer of some of the ideals they represent. Not all, but enough to keep him to his side of the war. He feels torn between saluting his superiors... And crushing everything that represents me. He tried crushing me and he can't. Or won't. He curses the fact there's nothing there for his physical body to clutch but a sensation. A pulse of magnetic disturbance on his aura. A presence. A waft of energy to tease his own fields before he feels himself overload time and time again. If only I knew what he honestly thought when he screamed, sometimes my name, knowing he would die if his superiors discovered his ties to me. To what I represented.

They wouldn't believe it either if they knew he was protecting a human ghost.


End file.
